I smile at Koko’s teasing, making my way to the counter. “Good morning, Koko. It was impossible to stay in bed on such a beautiful day. Could I get a caramel latte and… oh, that blueberry muffin looks delicious.”
As Koko prepares my order, we chat about the bonfire from the night before. She asks about my plans for the day as she hands me my coffee and muffin.
“I thought I’d do some shopping,” I reply, inhaling the rich aroma of the coffee. “Lily recommended a couple of stores I should check out. After that… I’m not sure. Maybe explore a bit more.”
Koko nods approvingly. “Sounds like a perfect day. Enjoy yourself, Rose. This town is full of hidden gems just waiting to be discovered by an artist’s eye.”
I stifle a small laugh – I never mentioned being an artist to her. But then, this is my first taste of small-town life, where I’m learning that news seems to travel on the wind itself. There’s something both unnerving and charming about it, so different from the anonymous bustle of city life I’m used to.
With a wave goodbye, I head out, my spirits high and my taste buds delighted by the muffin – it is bursting with fresh blueberries and crowned with a deliciously crunchy sugar top. It’s a perfect start to what promises to be a good day.
My first stop is Linen & Lore, the shop Lily had recommended. As soon as I step inside, I understand why she spoke so highly of it. The store is a treasure trove of traditional Slavic textiles, each piece more beautiful than the last. Intricate embroideries, delicate lace, and richly patterned fabrics line the shelves and hang from displays.
I meander through the store, my fingers trailing over soft linens and rough-woven tapestries. A piece of handmade lace stops me in my tracks, its delicate pattern reminding me offrost on a windowpane. Heather would love this – I can already picture my friend’s face lighting up at such an intricate treasure.
As I continue browsing, a dress near the back of the store catches my eye. It’s a simple design, but the deep, rich blue fabric reminds me of the ocean, with tiny silver threads woven through it that shimmer like fish darting beneath the waves. In the dressing room, the material falls perfectly against my skin, and the fit is so natural that it feels predestined. One glance in the mirror seals my fate – this dress is coming home with me. I must have it.
I leave Linen & Lore clutching my wrapped treasures, my bank account lighter but my heart full. The dress was admittedly a splurge, but I silence my practical side by calling it an investment in memories. Every time I wear it, it will remind me of this trip.
My next stop is the Malachite Maid. As soon as I step inside, I’m enveloped by the heady scent of incense and the soft tinkling of wind chimes. The shop is dimly lit, with crystals and gemstones catching what little light there is, creating a mystical atmosphere.
I wander the shop, trailing my fingers over smooth crystals and carved deities while browsing books on tarot and astrology. The incense display stops me – I can already imagine the fragrant smoke curling across the houseboat’s deck during my evening sketching sessions. I select a few promising scents and a simple ceramic burner to bring the vision to life.
As I pay for my purchases, a small, iridescent stone on a leather cord near the register catches my eye. The shopkeeper notices my interest.
“That’s labradorite,” she says with a smile. “It’s said to be a stone of transformation and magic. It helps you see the light in dark times and find your way through changes.”
I hesitate for a moment, then add it to my purchase. Whether or not I believe in the metaphysical properties of stones, I can’t deny its beauty. And who knows? Maybe a little extra magic wouldn’t hurt.
After I finish shopping, I decide to drive to the lighthouse. The weather seems perfect for it.
The lighthouse comes into view as I round a bend in the road. It stands tall and proud against the backdrop of sea and sky, its white tower gleaming in the sunlight. I park the car and walk towards it, my camera in hand.
As I get closer, I notice a sign that makes my heart sink. “Closed to Visitors.” I hadn’t even considered that possibility. For a moment, I stand there, disappointed. But then I remind myself that even if I can’t go inside, I can still appreciate its beauty from the outside.
The lighthouse commands attention as I circle it, my camera clicking steadily. Every angle offers something new – the weathered door at its base, the gleaming glass dome crowning its height, the stark white tower rising against an impossibly blue sky. But something feels missing in each shot.
I pause to watch the waves crash against the rocky shore below, seabirds wheeling overhead with wild cries. My fingers itch for my sketchbook as I drink in the details – the rough-hewn stone, the endless dance of water, and the way morning light gilds everything it touches. Still, I can’t capture its essence, not from here.
My mind drifts back to yesterday’s kayak trip, remembering how the lighthouse looked from the water – proud and protective, a guardian of the harbor. That’s the perspective I want, I realize.
After a good hour of exploring the area around the lighthouse, I reluctantly head back. It’s past lunchtime, and my stomach is letting me know it’s empty.
On the drive back to the marina, my mind whirls with imagery – the proud lighthouse, restless sea, and endless sky all demand to be captured. I am eager to translate this wild beauty into something permanent.
The marina’s small parking lot is packed when I arrive, with no space to be found. It makes sense –everyone with a boat must be out enjoying the water on a gorgeous day like this. I find a spot on the street and walk down to the docks, enjoying how the sun sparkles on the mostly empty slips. At the houseboat, I can’t help scanning for Levi, but there’s no sign of him. Trying to ignore the little pang of disappointment, I eat a quick lunch before settling onto the deck with my sketchpad and camera.
But as I flip through the images on my camera, I realize that none of them quite capture what I’m envisioning. They’re beautiful, yes, but they’re missing something. The angle isn’t quite right, the lighting isn’t perfect, and the composition feels off.
Frustrated, I set the camera aside and look out over the marina. That’s when I spot the kayak, still securely attached to the railing of the houseboat.
I look up at the sky. It’s still that perfect blue, and the water is calm. The lighthouse isn’t far outside the marina – I could easily paddle out there, get the photos I need, and be back well before dinnertime. I grab my phone and check the weather app.
The forecast looks promising. Clear skies and gentle winds are predicted for the rest of the day, with no sudden changes expected. The app shows a row of cheerful sun icons stretching into the evening. It’s as if the weather itself is encouraging my little adventure.
The more I think about it, the more the idea appeals to me. I’m comfortable in a kayak, I’m a good swimmer, and the conditions couldn’t be better. Before I can talk myself out of it, I make a decision.
I quickly scribble a note – “Gone for a quick paddle to get some photos of the lighthouse. Back soon! – Rose” – and tape it to the door of the houseboat. Just in case Levi comes looking for me, I don’t want him to worry.
